Special Pricing

Read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited. Only for a limited time!

Book Description

$5.99

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 128 customer reviews

Frederick Starks has it all—a gorgeous wife, three beautiful children, and millions in the bank. His wife's gut-wrenching betrayal sent him over the edge and into a maximum security prison. In that place, where inmates and guards have their own rules and codes of conduct, Starks is forced to face the darker side of life, and his own darker side. He must choose which path to follow when the line between right and wrong becomes blurred: one that leads to getting out of the physical and emotional hellhole he finds himself in or one that keeps him alive.

Sample Chapter

Starks believed without a doubt that he was not born to be an underling.
Low man on the totem pole did not suit him at all. Yet, here he was,
lower than he’d ever been. And this was only the first day of the next
fifteen years. The only advantage he had in this godforsaken place was
money. Parker had greased a few palms to get Starks’s prison number as
soon as it was assigned. Jeffrey had then promptly deposited four
hundred dollars into his prison account and set up automatic deposits of
the same amount every two weeks, with the agreement that if more money
was needed, it would be there.

He edged his way slowly around the fenced-in prison yard, pausing to
grasp the mesh of the chain-link fence and look past it at the
twenty-foot wall that was ten yards from where he stood. A crow landed
on the wall. It stared at Starks, tilting its head in crisp movements,
seemed to study him with one eye then the other. The black bird
sharpened its beak on the concrete, cawed once then flew away.

Nearby, inmates played a rowdy game of football, while others used
exercise equipment or otherwise occupied themselves. He’d learned from
Parker that there were several hundred more inmates incarcerated with
him than the place was actually designed to accommodate, which was
already a large enough number. He wondered what the ramifications of
that compression of bodies, mentalities, and egos would be, especially
in the hot months. Fortunately, if one could consider anything about
prison life fortunate, at least in Massachusetts, there were fewer hot
months here than in the southern states. This did not ease apprehension
about sharing his confinement.

Fifteen years was a long time. Especially in a maximum security prison.
Unless he got out early for good behavior. This, he decided, was what
he’d strive for, unless what he dreaded happened and his sentence
became life.

“What happens to me if Ozy dies?” he’d asked Parker.

“You don’t have to worry about the death penalty. Massachusetts no
longer executes felons and hasn’t since 1947. Some enthusiasts have
tried overturning that decision. It’s been up for a vote a number of
times over the years, always defeated. Really, don’t worry about
it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I know it’s a small comfort. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used
to small comforts. They’ll keep you sane.”

I’m in hell.

And I don’t deserve to be here.

He desperately wanted to return to his former life. Wanted everyone to
say that what he’d done that landed him in this godforsaken place had
been justified, excused. That he’d done what any man in his situation
would have done, and had a right to do—if he had any self-respect at
all.

He thought about writing a letter to Jeffrey or calling him on the
phone, realizing he had no idea how either process worked here—derided
himself for not getting more of this kind of information from Parker
before coming here.

Jeffrey would understand if he told him “I’m scared out of my mind,
man. I’m always looking behind me, watching my back. Inmates stare at
me. The fear of being raped or stabbed is more than a fear, it’s a
real possibility. If anyone other than a guard approaches me to talk, I
don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t trust anyone in here. And no one
tells you anything, unless you ask. Even then, you almost wish you
hadn’t. You have to watch and learn what to do, not even knowing what
the penalty might be for getting it wrong. Know what they call new
arrivals, like me? New fish. That’s how I feel. Like a fish out of
water, flapping desperately on dry land, gasping for breath. It’s a
different world, Jeffrey. I’m seriously thinking of finding a way to
kill myself.” He knew his last sentence would seem dramatic, and he
broke into a sweat when he realized some part of him meant it.

He let go of the fence and continued to walk, taking note as
unobtrusively as possible of inmates in the yard. None of them looked
friendly.

His cellmate had shown up for the count at eleven that morning. The man
was short and wiry, as was his salt-and-pepper hair. He also spoke
almost no English, though he seemed to understand it well enough, which
Starks found out when he asked, “What happens if you’re not in your
cell for the count?”

“Big shit,” though the man pronounced it beeg sheet.”

Then the cellmate had babbled in his native language, which Starks
didn’t recognize.

“Why the hell do they put people together who can’t talk to each
other?”

His cellmate bobbed his head several times and smiled, revealing the
seven tobacco-stained teeth remaining in his mouth.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Starks added, as he climbed onto his
bunk, where he lay staring out of the slit called a window.

His stomach grumbled in protest. How did anyone survive on the crap they
served? As soon as he was brave enough to ask, he’d find out. The
lunch meal, his first in prison, had not only been inedible but the
entire process was confusing as hell. He’d had to watch others, and be
careful how he did that so he didn’t piss them off. It hadn’t taken
long to realize why trays were pushed anonymously through a slot:
Who’d want to be blamed for the poor excuse for food. There had also
been the matter of figuring out where to sit, which he quickly learned
wasn’t wherever you wanted to: Inmates had their usual tables and
others were expected to treat this as a fact, if not practically a law.
There was the discovery that he had to knock on the table before he sat
and when he got up. He wasn’t sure why, but every inmate did this, so
he imitated them. And he’d learned he had ten minutes to eat in the
chow hall, as one guard who poked him with his nightstick informed him.
The dinner meal was no different.

That evening, after resisting using the exposed toilet all day, Starks
went to the seat-less, coverless steel fixture. It was bad enough he had
no privacy, but his cellmate, whose name he still couldn’t pronounce,
had pissed on the rim and not cleaned it. The small attached sink was
littered with spat-out toothpaste and beard hairs. Starks gagged. He
wanted to shout at the man and tell him, “You’re a pig,” but he
didn’t want to be stuck like one while he slept. He also decided to
keep his toothbrush far from this part of the cell.

Once he finally fell asleep, the nightmares haunted him: Ozy laughing as
he plunged the knife in, Margaret’s grandmother’s bowl spilling
blood over the rim like lava, and other disturbing images.

Join BookDaily now and receive featured titles to sample for free by email.
Reading a book excerpt is the best way to evaluate it before you spend your time or money.

Just enter your email address and password below to get started:

Email

Password

Your email address is safe with us. Privacy policy
By clicking ”Get Started“ you agree to the Terms of Use. All fields are required

Instant Bonus: Get immediate access to a daily updated listing of free ebooks from Amazon when you confirm your account!

Author Profile

Nesly Clerge

Nesly Clerge received his bachelor’s degree in physiology and neurobiology at the University of Maryland, and later pursued a doctoral degree in the field of chiropractic medicine. Although his background is primarily science-based, he has finally embraced his lifelong passion for writing. Clerge’s debut novel, When the Serpent Bites, is due out in 2015, with the sequel to follow. His debut novel explores choices, consequences, and the complexities of human emotions, especially when we are placed in a less-than-desirable setting. When he is not writing, Clerge manages several multidisciplinary clinics. He enjoys reading, chess, traveling, exploring the outdoors, and spending time with his significant other and his sons.